Early morning. Too early. Making a cup of coffee. The one redeeming factor of the am.

Cream, then sugar. Maybe Splenda, depending on how fat I feel today.

But there’s this awful color that coffee can be. Just chills me to the bone.

Because in the hurry, in the panic, there’s not a minute to lose.

There should be a warning sign on that color: Ignore me and regret eternally.

It happens when there’s not quite enough cream. The proportions are off.

Instead of the enticing swirl of just pale brown, it’s this funky orange color.

I’ve underestimated the dairy and overestimated the mug.

Such a dilemma, such a waste, such a drama when I’m half awake!

I always always know when the coffee is good. Black with Splenda or creamy milk chocolate.

(This post isn’t quite right, just like that funky orange color.)

Perhaps the solution is to skip the whole deal and go to Timmies.

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